


To The Dogs

by spookyleo



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Service Dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 18:12:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyleo/pseuds/spookyleo
Summary: Oh no.To start with, Matt didn’t need a service dog.





	To The Dogs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mado](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mado/gifts).



> A Daredevil Secret Santa gift off the prompt "Dogs".  
> Happy Holidays!  
> (Also: Rosebud has been gay slang for asshole since the 60's. That's vaguely important to understand for any of the jokes in this to play out)

The way Matt left it – with a growl – had been with the Punisher falling from the rooftop backwards, spitting words over the howling wind around them, catching himself with a grappling hook ten storeys below.

They had been facing each other off for weeks now, and as Matt made his way to work, senses fuzzy from the snow coating Hell’s Kitchen in a thin blanket, his mind revisited the night before. He’d been intercepting each and every kill the Punisher had tried to make, and so far, it was only serving to piss the guy off.

And yet he's not yet taken a shot at Matt.

Maybe he was reading into it a little too much, but the way the guy seemed to make it easier each night for Matt to find him, the way he put a smile in the first sentence of each night made Matt feel like maybe he fucking _liked_ him.

Imagine that. A murderer – because Matt was _not_ calling him a vigilante – liking his company?

As Matt pushed the door open of the block the firm was situated in, he chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

And the smell of dog hit him.

Wiry, thin and nose teasing, the scent wafted down the stairs, coming from...

Oh no.

To start with, Matt didn’t _need_ a service dog.

He couldn’t tell Foggy that, though, his best friend unaware of the hyper senses that practically gave Matt a sonar system, more than making up for his lack of sight. And Foggy _couldn’t_ know.

Karen didn’t know either. Matt pushed his way into the room - almost gagging with the scent and the hair and the... _everything_... that came with dogs – feigning surprise to his excited colleagues.

“We met this Russian guy,” Karen started,” On our way here this morning.”

“Tracksuit, skinhead, you know the type.” Matt nodded as Foggy explained. There were a whole bunch of them running an apartment block downtown, and Matt knew people who swore they’d seen Hawkeye – as in the _Avenger_ – getting beat up by them before.

“Anyway,” Karen continued, “He said that him and his friends were rescuing dogs for a track event or something, and this guide dog had come to them and wasn’t able to compete, and then he offered us the dog for fifteen bucks,”

“So naturally, we took it,” Foggy finished, “His name is Rosebud!”

Great. Asshole the dog.

“Aw,” Matt pushed a smile to his face, putting his cane down as Foggy and Karen finished explaining what they had done. “You guys know I’m allergic.”

He heard Karen’s face fall.

“We just thought – y’know – with all the bumps and bruises you’ve been getting lately –“

“-You could do with the extra help,” Foggy finished the sentence for her, and Karen nodded.

Matt could hear Rosebud (Matt had to think of a better name) - breathing with his tongue lolled out and head tilted to one side – sat between the three of them.

“What kind of dog is he?”

“He’s a Labrador mutt, from the looks of him,”

“I guess I’ll take him, then.”

Matt and Rosebud got to know each other very well over the following days.

After the initial few hours, when Matt’s nose no longer felt like every dog hair that had ever existed was inside his sinuses, he could finally attempt to get to know the dog. He soon found that Rosebud was not trained as a service dog for the blind at all. It was more likely that the dog was trained for someone with emotional disturbance or something similar, because every time Matt attempted to sit down, the Labrador pushed close to his legs and his senses were hit with another wave of over stimulation.

This new relationship was gonna be fun, huh.

Rosebud wasn’t apartment trained and knocked over more things than Matt did the first few days after he lost his sight. Taking him for a walk was difficult too – dog poop, unsurprisingly, was way too much for Matt to handle and his eyes and nose hurt for hours after each walkies trip. On the second day, Rosebud peed in the living room and Matt couldn’t sleep for the smell, even after he cleaned the spot three times.

Above all this, being a dog dad was stopping Matt from going out as Daredevil. The slow process of growing closer with the Punisher – whether for better or worse, or if it was a personal interest or strictly professional Matt wasn’t sure of yet – ruined, at least for now. The dog was trained to attempt to contact others if Matt seemed to be in distress, usually through barking, and Matt was certain that backflipping out the window would be seen as distress. He definitely didn’t need Mrs. Rosaroz from downstairs pushing into his apartment, distressed, anticipating Matt having fallen to the floor or something, only to catch him in bright red tights.

Matt wasn’t able to find another name. Foggy ended up buying them a high vis vest with “Rosebud” on one side. Asshole the dog suited him, to be fair.

It was a couple of weeks later when Matt took Rosebud to the actual dog park.

Snow still piled upon the ground, slushy and grey like mirrors of the clouds that hung above. Matt was wrapped in his big blue puffer jacket, cane in one hand and dog lead in the other. For once, the cane wasn’t unused, the scent of dogs and the claggy snowed down air seeping into his brain and filling his sense with ice and hair.

The park wasn’t busy – as one would assume on a day as cold as this – but other dogs and owners milled around, and Rosebud tugged at his lead trying to sniff each and every one of them. Matt felt like he’d given his senses away.

“C’mon, Rosie, calm down boy,” his words were pushed between sniffs, and Matt was made even more aware of how fucked his sinuses felt. Shit, he was gonna have to buy some Lemsip or _something._ He couldn’t go on like this.

Rosebud did not calm down upon asking, which only proved how shitty of a service dog he really was. Instead, the dog led Matt away, tugging him with what must have been inordinate strength towards where another dog and dog walker seemed to be minding their own business; Matt couldn’t stop Rosebud if he tried, and before he knew it, the dog had run, rom-com style, between the legs of the dog-walker, pulling Matt flush to the other person’s chest, a pitiful yelp escaping his lungs.

The other person was solid, tall, angry, and now covered in boiling hot coffee. The smell of dogs was momentarily lost as the coffee sloshed between the two, and Matt pulled quickly away.

“I am so sorry,” This sort of thing had happened before, but never truly by accident. Matt knew the guy would take one look at Matt’s cane and red glasses and feel he had to forgive him. He even heard a hint of the guy’s heartbeat slowing down as the realisation set in.

“It – it’s fine,” The guy sighed, hesitantly moving his hand to pull his shirt – now turning cold and wet – away from his body. Rosebud chose that convenient moment to run back to Matt’s side.

“What’s your dog called?” The guy smiled a little, raggedly, and Matt heard it come through in his voice.

“He’s called Rosebud,”

“Rosebud?”

“I didn’t name him.”

“Asshole the dog,” The guy nodded.

“It’s apt, I think,” Matt smiled back, and he heard the guy chuckle.

“This is Winston,” he nodded to his own dog, who was peeing against a railing a few feet away. The ammonia stung Matt’s nose.

 “He’s an American Pitbull and he’s as handsome as I am, so try to imagine that.”

Matt chuckled. As nice as this guy was, something seemed oddly off about him. Matt was sure he’d heard the rough grate of his voice before, the rhythm of his heart eerily familiar.

“Let me buy you another coffee, please,” Matt grinned, a peace offering, and he heard the stranger grin, offer an arm out for Matt to take.

“I’m Matt, by the way,” He said as he obliged, slipping one hand over the guys arm, tugging on Rosebud’s lead with his other hand.

“Nice to meet you, Matt. I’m Frank.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is interested, I have ideas for a few more chapters of this! Let me know if any more is wanted!


End file.
